“I can’t sleep,” I mumbled miserably. “Marsh…I’m so scared…”
“It’s worse because you aren’t sleeping,” he bitched, though gently. “Tish, you look like shit, I’m not gonna lie, like somebody punched you in the eyes.”
“I don’t care what I look like!” I snapped, or would have snapped if I’d been myself. If I had even one-tenth the energy. I croaked, “I will be right here when he wakes up. I won’t have it otherwise.”
“I know,” Marshall acknowledged quietly, his eyes moving to Case. Pain flinched across his face before he composed himself. He said, “I do know that. I’d like to be here, too.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, tearing my gaze from Case for a second to regard Marsh, who was like my own brother after this past summer. He bore deep shadows beneath his eyes and days’ worth of dark beard, appearing tired and haggard, older than his twenty-seven years. Marshall had been here with Case and me every night, sleeping in chairs during the day so he could be up with me at night, skipping work, just like me. Other than my little sister Ruthann, Marshall had been here the most. Though, oddly, they hadn’t overlapped much, as Marsh was typically sleeping when Ruthie was here during the day.
My mother, my cousin Clint, my older sister Camille and my Aunt Jilly were all in town; the hospital treating Case was in Bozeman, which was a good two and a half hours west of Jalesville. Camille’s husband Mathias Carter had relatives in town, whose house was where they were all staying right now; Mathias was beside himself with worry over Case, who was one of his dearest friends, but out of necessity he had remained in Minnesota with his and Camille’s four children. The Rawleys, along with Case’s little brother Gus, had been alternating making the drive between the two towns; at least a couple of them were here each evening, for a few hours.
My dad had been forced to return to his job; he was a lawyer at Rockford, Gordon and Bunnickle in downtown Chicago. He promised before leaving (though somewhat skeptically, as I had clearly discerned) that he would “look into” what I’d informed him about Ron Turnbull’s business dealings in Jalesville. If Ron Turnbull, snake that he was, had suddenly appeared in this hospital room, I would not be responsible for my own actions; I felt murderous. And I had once, not even that long ago, been ready to sign over my soul to him, to work as an associate in his law firm. I had thought it was what I truly wanted, before I had known better.
“I’m not saying it doesn’t mean I don’t think you don’t need sleep,” Marshall was saying. He plunged both hands through his longish dark hair, roughing it up, before saying, “God, now I’m barely making sense to myself.”
“Did you get some supper?” I asked him. It had to be well past the dinner hour; Mom, Aunt Jilly, Clint, Ruthie and Camille had left an hour or so ago, with promises to return in the morning. They were so worried for me, prepared to stay here as long as it took, I knew.
“Yeah, and shit, I brought you some too,” he said, jumping back to his feet. Marsh, like all the Rawleys, was tall, and lean as a drought year (as my dear great-gran would have said, back when she was alive); he moved with agile grace. He added over his shoulder, “I practically dropped it when I saw you freaking out.”
“I’m all right now,” I whispered, though that was far from the truth, but at least I had a tentative hold on my emotions. I stood so that I could lean over the metal bed railing to kiss Case’s forehead, and his eyelids, as gently as I could.
“Wake up,” I whispered painfully, studying him, the ventilator mask covering his familiar, handsome face from the nose down. I begged, “Please, oh please, hear me. Wake up, sweetheart.”
“Here, eat this and don’t complain,” Marsh said. He’d collected a wrapped burrito from the seat of the third chair in the room; I sank back into mine and accepted it from him. The hospital staff had been relatively lenient with us, as I’d flipped out all over the place on day one, when they’d tried to make me leave Case’s room after so-called visiting hours. Since then they’d treated me like a mental patient, giving me a rather wide berth. So far the only one to disobey the posted hours along with me was Marshall; I could not have asked for a better partner in crime. He was reassuringly stoic, and his blunt, sarcastic sense of humor kept me sane.
I unwrapped the edge and took a single nibble, resisting the urge to spit it out. But then I realized anew that Case would hate that I wasn’t treating myself with more regard, and though my stomach lurched at the food, I forced another bite down my throat.
“Everybody left?” Marsh asked quietly.
I nodded, letting the burrito drift towards my lap; Marshall instantly narrowed his eyes at me and I sighed, lifting it back to my mouth.
“Eat,” he ordered.
“I am,” I whispered.
“I wonder if he’s dreaming,” Marsh said, low.
“I think about that,” I said. “I haven’t noticed any R.E.M. sleep.” And I’d been watching like a hawk; to me, this would signify a grain of hope.
“I think he can hear us,” Marsh said. “I believe he can.”
“Me, too,” I said. And then on inspiration, I asked, “How did Case get his nickname?”
Marshall laughed a little, reaching to put his hand on Case’s leg, patting him gently; the tender gesture tore at me.
“Buddy, do you care if I tell that story?” Marsh asked softly. “I can’t fucking wait to see you up and about again. It’s making us all crazy to see you like this, you know. Your woman, especially.” Marsh looked over at me and smoothed his free hand gently over the back of my shorn hair. He returned his gaze to Case and said, “I’ve known from the first how much you love Tish. God, that night you saw her picture for the first time. We couldn’t tear it from your hand. So I know how much it would make you happy to see her here with you, by your side. Tish loves you so much, and I know you finally know that now.”
Fresh tears ran down my neck and wet the collar of my grungy t-shirt. Clark had brought me new clothes from the trailer, but I was still an unwashed wreck for the most part. I would have to use the little shower in this room, at some point.
Marsh went on, addressing me now, humor in his tone, “Case passed out at the fire that night, but he kept your picture right next to him, against his heart. I tried to sneak it away, because I wanted to see Ruthann in it again. I had claimed her for mine that same night, you know, but Case told me he would break my arms if I tried to take the picture away again.”
“You guys are such romantics,” I whispered. I did know this, as I’d heard the story many times. I cupped my hand around Case’s right ear, his temple, tasting the salt of my tears. I wanted to taste his kiss, I wanted to feel his arms around me, holding me close. I wanted him to hear me tell him that I loved him, to tell me that all of the terrible nightmares that had been plaguing me were nothing but figments of my imagination. Case always knew what to say to reassure me; just the sound of his voice reassured me that all was right in the world.
“Shit, when you know, you just know,” Marsh was saying. “I mean that. But Case was rabid about that damn picture. He had it with him from that moment forth. When he wrote your song that August, he planned to play it for you at Carter and Camille’s wedding.”
“He did?” I whispered, aching at this thought. I had been so cruel to him that night, utterly disregarded the things that he had said to me. I choked, “Oh, Case…baby…”
Marsh said intently, “Hey. Shit. It’s all right, Tish, it’s gonna be all right.”
I was crying again, wiping my eyes and nose on my shoulders, alternating. I sobbed to Marsh, “I just had my period. I’m not pregnant. Oh God, if something happens, I won’t even have a part of him with me…”
To his credit, poor Marshall didn’t squirm at my bordering-upon-hysterical words. He only patted my back again. And then, inexplicably, I felt Ruthann behind me; she must have slipped in without my hearing her. She curled her hands over my shoulders and then tipped down and pressed her lips to the top of my head, something that a mo
ther would do, but that was how Ruthie had always been. Marsh let his hand drift back to his own side.
I was embarrassed for acting this way, for losing such control when it was the least helpful thing I could possibly do. I scrubbed at my eyes and then turned to hug Ruthie around the hips, as she was standing and I was sitting.
“What are you doing here?” I mumbled, my words muffled against my little sister’s stomach. I probably sounded ungrateful, which was the last thing I intended to convey; I was just confused, as she’d left with Mom and everyone over an hour ago.
“I couldn’t sleep and so I drove back over. I was worried about you,” Ruthie said. And then softly to Marshall, “Hi.”
He nodded hello.
“Marsh, you remember my sister Ruthann,” I said, leaning back from Ruthie and rubbing my eyes.
“Of course I do,” I heard Marshall say in a tone of voice that was quite unlike any I’d ever heard him use; at the same moment, Ruthie said, “We talked for a second yesterday.”
“Good to see you. Again,” Marshall said, still sounding just a little off. I tilted my head enough to study him surreptitiously; he was sitting very still, seeming ill at ease, which was strange. I had seen him operate around women, and normally they were all but eating from his hand. Not that this was a normal situation, but he hadn’t behaved this way around Mom, Aunt Jilly or Camille earlier this week; with them he’d been his usual charming self, kissing their hands, complimenting them.
Ruthie stepped towards the third chair in the room, certainly intending to drag it over to the bedside to join us; at the same time, Marsh stood up with that very intention in mind, behaving like a gentleman. They almost bumped into each other. Ruthie lifted both hands the way you would to prevent crashing into something and made inadvertent contact with Marshall’s waist. Marsh cleared his throat and Ruthie dropped her chin as though embarrassed to look directly at him. This interplay between them was strange enough that it distracted me for a second.
“Here, I got it,” he said decisively, his voice lower-pitched than usual, moving to collect the chair and position it on the other side of mine.
“Thank you,” my little sister said quietly, fidgeting with the long braid that hung over her shoulder.
Marsh sat back down without another word and I couldn’t help but give him a look; he met my eyes and narrowed his own, as though menacingly, and I almost smiled. Almost, but not quite.
“It’s hard to sleep at the Carters’ house,” Ruthie said, settling into the chair. She was quick to add, “I don’t mean to complain. They’re so nice, it’s not that, but their place is so crowded with all of us. And since Milla is pregnant and Clinty is too big to sleep on the loveseat, that’s where I keep ending up…”
“It’s all right to bitch,” I assured her, wrapping my hands back around Case’s right hand, holding gently to him. I said to my little sister, as I had countless times over the years, “You’re too nice.”
Ruthie laughed a little; she seemed almost nervous, and she had never been a complainer. It simply wasn’t in her nature. She was the epitome of sweetness. She said, “I know. But it was a good excuse to come back over here anyway.” She put one hand on my thigh and said, “Are you all right? Tish, I’m so worried about you…”
“Thanks for being here,” I said. “Just you guys being here helps me a great deal.”
We sat in companionable silence for a minute, before I said, “I talked to Grandma and Aunt Ellen a little today.”
“They miss you so much,” Ruthie said. “Grandma always says the café is too quiet without you.”
I did smile a little at this; Grandma had always been the first to tell me to pipe down. I missed her and my great-aunt Ellen a great deal, too.
As soon as Case wakes up, we’ll go and visit them, I thought with determination.
“They’re such nice women,” Marshall said. “I remember when we came to Landon that summer, they were like the two nicest grandmothers anyone could hope for.”
“That was fun,” I said softly.
“It was. I wanted to stay longer than two weeks,” Marsh said. He was sitting low on his spine, his fingers laced over his lean belly, his long legs crossed at the ankles.
“Good thing you didn’t,” Ruthie surprised me by saying. I had the feeling she’d surprised herself as well. She explained, “I was about ready to drown you in the lake.”
Marshall looked over at her, dark eyebrows lifted.
Ruthie twisted her braid in her right hand and hurried on, “Well, you wouldn’t quit picking on me. I mean, you untied my bikini top about a hundred times…”
Now that sounded more like the Marshall I knew.
He said, “Yeah, I don’t think your boyfriend appreciated that very much.”
Ruthie was still dating Liam Gallagher, the guy in question, as she had been for the past four years. She smiled a crooked little smile and affirmed, “He was ready to kick your butt back to Montana.”
“It’s not like he let you out of his sight much,” Marshall replied. My eyes flickered back to him. I tried to send him a telepathic message, This isn’t the way to earn points with my sister, buddy.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ruthie asked, and I heard the surprise and defense mingled in her voice. I looked back at her; as they were on opposite sides of me, I felt a little like a spectator at a volleyball game, glancing one way and then instantly the other.
“Well, you were practically attached at the hips,” Marshall said. I hoped he didn’t intend to sound so confrontational.
“Marsh, you were about to tell me that story,” I interrupted, hoping to redirect him. I had the sense that he was picking a fight with my sister, and I didn’t understand why.
“I’ll be right back,” he said instead, rising and disappearing from the room without a backward glance.
What in the hell?
I looked over at Ruthie, who was staring after him. She jerked her gaze back to me and raised her eyebrows. She muted her voice a little and said, “He was such a pest that summer. A few times I was tempted to flash him, just because.”
For the second time I actually smiled a little at this wholly unexpected comment. Ruthie tucked loose stands of curly hair behind her ears and added, almost wickedly, “Just to torture him.”
“God, I can’t reconcile that attitude with the little sister I know,” I said, in all honesty. Ruthann could easily be queen of the goody-two-shoes, if there was such a thing. Even scouring my not-inconsiderable memory, I couldn’t recall one time that she had been in hot water, with friends, with Mom, with anyone. She was simply the definition of kindness. I studied her guileless face and said, teasing her a little, “Maybe I don’t know you as well as I think I do.”
Ruthie rolled her eyes and said with a sigh, “Oh, Tish.”
I turned back to Case and whispered, “Tell me it’s going to be all right, please. I just need to hear someone other than me say that.”
Ruthie scooted closer and said, her voice so familiarly soft and sweet, “It’s going to be all right, it is.” She put her hands back upon my shoulders and rubbed me. She added, “I’m so happy you found him, Tish, that you love him. It just feels right.”
I nodded, saying, “It’s so right. I fought it for a long time, but in my heart I always knew the truth.”
“Aunt Jilly said there’s something from the past that you have to understand,” Ruthie said. “Do you know what that means? It has to do with Cole Spicer and that man you think you were married to, right, that Yancy guy?”
I had explained my theory to Ruthann just two days ago, briefly, but there were still many things I hadn’t yet had a chance to tell her.
I asked, “Do you want the long version, or the short and sweet?”
Ruthie gave me a withering expression, her dark eyebrows pulled low. She murmured, “I’m not going anywhere. I want to be here. Plus,” teasing me a little, she added, “It means I don’t have to sleep on that dumb tiny couch. My back is
all cramped up.”
I slogged a hand through my hair. Ruthann studied me and then gently suggested, “You should take a shower quick. I’ll stay right here, I promise. If Case so much as flickers an eyelid I will scream for you.”
The bathroom was in sight of where we were sitting right now and I had new clothes folded on the counter in there, courtesy of Clark. I had no logical excuse and so I sighed and gave in, mumbling, “Fine.”
The warm water felt good, I had to admit, and I scrubbed myself thoroughly with the soap, using my fingernails on my scalp. As a teenager, I’d actually preferred having short hair, though it hadn’t been quite so short back then. Oddly, I had no real memory of my hair burning away the other night. The images from inside of the blazing barn were disjointed and broken in my mind, pieces of a nightmare. I clearly remembered, knew I would never forget, the sight of Case lying unconscious on the wooden floor between two stalls. He would have been killed if I hadn’t raced into the barn after him, if I’d obeyed his order to stay back and simply call 911.
I bent over in the shower, curling around the pain in my gut at this thought.
Had that been the intent of whoever had started the fire? Derrick Yancy – I knew, but had he actually meant for us to be killed? The fire hadn’t originated in the trailer, where we’d been sleeping that night – instead the barn, leading me to believe, when I was clear-headed enough, that the purpose had been to warn rather than kill us. No matter; I was murderously angry anyway, and Case lay unmoving because he wouldn’t let our animals burn alive when he could save them.
Out in the room I heard Marshall return; there was the muted sound of him speaking to Ruthann. I hoped he was prepared to be a little more polite. I knew he was tired and worried, approaching the end of his emotional rope, but there wasn’t any excuse to provoke her that way. Still, I hurried to dry and dress in my jeans and a much-too-big t-shirt (I’d requested that Clark bring me one of Case’s). When I came out of the bathroom, Ruthie and Marshall were sitting in what struck me as tense silence, my empty chair still between them. Marsh was crunching through a bag of chips.
Until Tomorrow Page 2